#✧ ⥼ — timeline. heavensward.

[jeredu]

His Legacy (4 images)

(WoLchefant timeline. Meteor died at The Vault because Zephirin's spear against the red sky triggered the Echo awakening within Haurchefant, and he faltered at that critical moment)

(See the AU tag for all of my posts on tumblr about this timeline)

[fisherrprince]

Oooooo you (me) wanna finish this so bad. Drafting………………..

[theblackestnight-ffxiv]

[ffxivwrite2024] prompt 4: reticent

A low drone of conversation occupied the Forgotten Knight, punctuated by the occasional sharp exclamation or burst of laughter. The table she and her companions claimed had ideal placement, near the warmth of the hearth, placed in the corner with view to all the entrances and exits of the room, against the wall so that no one could approach them from behind. Despite its obvious appeal, the regulars of the Forgotten Knight always left it vacant for them, and warned away anyone else who attempted to take their place.

D’zinhla was cloaked and hooded here. Miqo’te were more common in Ishgard than when she had first gained passage to the city, but they still stood out in general, and she in particular. Not wanting to link her activities that brought her to the Forgotten Knight with her identity as the “Hero of the Dragonsong War” and ward of House Fortemps, she came with ears and tail hidden, and tried not to draw obvious attention to herself.

Unfortunately, one of her companions was far less able to conceal his identifying features, and he’d long since given up the attempt. Despite the personal tragedy linked to misinterpretation of his appearance, Sidurgu made no effort to hide that he was Au Ra. By now he was familiar enough at the Forgotten Knight that the regulars paid his appearance no mind, which was exactly what he preferred.

The third of them was the one most likely to be overlooked, and Rielle took to that with an adolescent mix of relief and indignation that tended to prompt at least a bout of bickering with her companions. 

Unfortunately, this night seemed destined for one of them.

“Another lovely evening to sit in silence,” the girl said with a sarcastic twist, frowning in turn at each of them.

D’zinhla’s ears shifted beneath the hood, the fabric too heavy for them to perk to attentiveness. She glanced at Rielle, then across the table at Sidurgu, whose everpresent frown had deepened.

“And just what do you mean by that?” he asked in a low tone. He sounded intimidating, but she didn’t think he meant it; it was just a feature of how he tended to speak, especially when put on the defensive.

The girl was far too accustomed to him to be cowed in the slightest. “I mean that we finally get to see our friend for the first time in moons, yet here we are, silent as stone!” Rielle scowled at him. “I know to expect it from you, Sid, but you,” and she turned to face D’zinhla, “are just as bad as he is this time!”

Her eyebrows raised as she was taken aback. “I didn’t realize I was being so quiet,” she said, her voice pitched lower and huskier than she typically spoke. “I suppose I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Then why not tell us, rather than letting it sit inside you like that?” Rielle asked, waving a hand as if it was the most obvious thing

She blinked, lips parting but her refusal dying before it found breath to be spoken. “I…”

Her voice may have failed her, but Sidurgu was in full command of his. “Now, see here, Rielle, there’s no need to be prying like that. You don’t know what she’s been dealing with, and it’s none of your business if she shares it or not.”

“Prying? It’s just asking!” She wheeled around to face him. “And what’s the harm in asking?” She put her hands at her hips, glowering at the much taller Au Ra man.

“Because you need to learn when’s the right time for that, and you just go about blundering into it.” Sidurgu’s arms were crossed now. “We’ve been over this and over this, there’s a right time for that sort of thing, and you need to learn when to leave well enough alone.”

“And how am I ever supposed to learn if I don’t ask? Huh? You tell me to ask questions, and then you get mad at me for asking! How am I supposed to learn if every time I try to figure something out, I get yelled at for trying!”

“Enough,” and D’zinhla held a hand up, weariness washing over her. “It’s fine. You’re fine, Rielle. I was just… It’s hard. It’s hard to find the words.”

Rielle was still frowning. “I bet it would’ve been easier if Sid hadn’t gone on like that.”

“Rielle, don’t you-”

“Sid.” This time D’zinhla held her hand to silence him, and let threads of annoyance slip into her voice. “It’s fine. She’s right, how else is she supposed to learn if she doesn’t ask?” She sighed, resting her hand back on the table’s surface. “Neither of us is the easiest to talk to.”

“You could say that again,” the girl muttered. 

Sidurgu’s eyes flashed in irritation, but D’zinhla cut him off. “And I suppose it feels like you can’t win. You sit in silence without speaking, or you try a few pleasantries that die away, or you push harder for something with substance and get a lecture. Is that about the shape of it?”

Rielle nodded, a flicker of hurt in her eyes.

Sidurgu made as if to speak again, and yet again D’zinhla made the decision to cut him off. “Doesn’t seem fair, does it? And I know none of us operate under any illusions on the fairness of things, but it feels like you should get more credit for the effort.”

A look of sullen triumph was in Rielle’s expression now. “It’s not like I’m expecting some scholasticate conversation. I just want to talk! Especially when we go so long without seeing you, and half the time you show up only to run off somewhere with Sid and tell me to just wait here. I’m way too old for ‘be a good girl and stay out of trouble,’ and that’s another thing, but at the very least,” and she cut off Sidurgu’s building argument, “both of you could talk more! If you’re not going to talk to me, talk to each other, and at least I can join in a bit!” She bit her lip.

D’zinhla took a sharp breath. The matter of Rielle getting left behind when they went out to “take action” as only dark knights could…that was a matter of longstanding conflict, one with at least one clear solution that she could not wholeheartedly support. Teaching Rielle the way of the dark knight would have her beside them, not being left behind, and she had shown she was more than just interested in the idea. But Sidurgu had been deeply reluctant, for many reasons that were a tangled mess of emotion. Airraim felt strongly that Rielle should be taught, but because of that tangled mess of Sidurgu’s, her opinion on the matter was especially fraught. D’zinhla was deeply torn, wishing there was a way to keep Rielle protected from what she would experience, but knowing it could hardly be worse than what she had already been through. 

Still, it wasn’t as if that decision needed to be settled tonight. Rielle was right, at the very least, they owed her more than this. They were, she recalled with a pang, all the girl had in this world. And that was a problem on its own as well, but at the very least, they could open up to her. Not just to each other and allow her to politely listen in, but actually include her.

Sidurgu had kept silent as she had ruminated, with a level of restraint she appreciated. So had Airraim, for that matter, which was probably for the best; it didn’t seem like tonight was a good night for broaching what she represented, and she had stayed withdrawn within D’zinhla, silently observing. 

She sighed. “I’m sorry, Rielle. You’re right. You deserve better than that.” She pressed her palms flat against the table. “So, what’s something you’d like to talk about?”

Rielle shot a look of “I-told-you-so” at Sidurgu, tilting her chin up as she looked back at D’zinhla. “Tell me what’s got you so caught up in your thoughts. You don’t have to go into all of it but you should talk to us about some of it!” She looked especially proud of her offered compromise.

D’zinhla smiled softly, though it was a weighted smile. What she’d been up to lately had been exercises in deep frustration, unable to act until problems were solved by those better equipped to solve them. But maybe putting them to words would help with that, at least a little. Rielle had very good instincts for that. 

She’s going to make an incredible dark knight one of these days. D’zinhla tried not to outwardly react to Airraim’s inner declaration, instead registering her intent to get into that–later. Right now she had a conversation to make. “Alright then, but first you’ll have to answer a few questions for me so I can figure out where to start. How much do you know about the Void?”

[scionshtola]

rereading shtola’s unending codex entry and the forum collectively decided to send her to matoya. which is still really funny to me bc i think at that point matoya had already made a weapon so dangerous the forum banned it and she was mad so she sealed it in gubal. and then they were like here is this seven year old girl you didn’t ask for.

[elizabethrobertajones]

When I say Ysayle is fine what I mean is:

[last-flight-of-fancy]

Backstory exploration time for WoL~

WoL: Hallima, he/they Au Ra

Timeline: Heavensward up to Dark Knight Level 50 (Wages of Mercy)

Hallima thought he was some sort of mutation his whole life. There might be some trauma around that.

Hallima was an orphan.

Well, he is an orphan. It's not like this fact has changed- he may have gained some troublesome pseudo-siblings recently, but the fact remains that Hallima spent a great deal of his life until recently hopping from town to town taking odd jobs from whoever would hire him to get by.

He considers himself lucky, in a way. He's hardier than the average eorzean, covered in scales and thick skin, and most illnesses seem to pass him by. It offered him advantages most wandering urchin's simply don't have. That said however, he is not immune to things like exhaustion and hunger, and it was not without the ocassional helping hand that he had made it to adulthood.

He considers himself lucky to have made it to adulthood at all.

People rarely ask him about his past, a fact he is quietly grateful for. The calamity had rendered so many with lost loved ones that it has become considered somewhat gouche to ask after such things unless needed. Perhaps that's why it surprised him so much when Alphinaud- prim, proper, polite, Alphinaud- had done exactly that late one night as they rested in the Fortemps residence.

"Does anyone worry for you?" He asks, laying on his back in his cot and staring at the darkned ceilings. Hallima looks up from the weapon he's doing some maintenance on, lit by only a dim candle on a nearby table.

"Why?" A practiced evasion, though it feels somewhat wrong to use on Alphinaud in particular. To say he's come to care about the kid would be something of an understatement.

"Ah, that was rude, wasn't it? I'm sorry. I just... started thinking about Alisaie and wondering what she's doing... if the Crystal Braves had targeted her too..."

Hallima hums softly to indicate he's listening. A thought spiral, common to these sorts of late hours, and considering everything that has happened... He gets it.

"Then I wondered if she worries for us in turn... And then I realised how silly that was. She sent the carraige for us, of course she worries. Not that she would admit it, mind."

That tracks from what Hallima has seen of the girl. Stubborn and independant, but fiercly loyal besides. He's met the type before.

"Anyroad, the thought crossed my mind and it left my mouth before I could consider it. Forgive me."

"It's fine." The darkness within writhes at the lie, but is mollified with a glance towards Alphinaud's contrition, mixed with his own fear and anxiety hidden just beneath the surface. "... No. No one worries for me."

"I see." Alphinaud sits up then, and the candlelight makes the bags under his eyes all the more distinct, but it does not lessen the earnestness of his gaze. "Well. You may increase that number by at least one."

Hallima doesn't really know how to react in the face of Alphinaud's sincerity, so he gives a generic smile and a thank you before encouraging the boy to try and sleep once more. It's only after Alphinaud's breathing slows into a steady snore that Hallima smothers the candle with a bare hand and lets the mask drop.

-

Hallima grew up thinking he was some form of monster with ideas above its station. Or perhaps a Mi'quote who's fur turned hard and rough instead of soft and downy. Or any number of things that might occur to a child who has never met anyone quite like them. By the time he hit adulthood, Hallima thought that he had come to terms with the reality that he would probably never know.

And then he'd met Yugiri, who kept her face covered at all times, but there was no mistaking the rough texture of her tail or the shape of things beneath her hood which are too stiff and improperly placed to be even the strangest of mi'quote ears.

Hallima had not asked.

She had stared at him, long and hard, and in the end she hadn't asked either.

(or maybe she had, in her own surreptious way. She was an expert ninja and infiltrator after all)

Why hadn't Hallima asked, despite his suspicions? He's still not sure.

He can imagine the scoffing his companions would give if he told them it was fear.

He has no other words for it, though.

-

Hallima looks into Fray's face- their face- and feels at once rage and grief. His face, their face, and one both familiar and not. It tugs at memories long buried, and Hallima doesn't want them.

Reality has never cared much for such things, however.

Fray- or rather, Esteem- falls defeated, and two become one once more.

-

Hallima's earliest memories are of horrible, biting cold and numb fingers that he cannot bend.

-

There's no time for that, not with the war between Ishgard and the Dragons looming ever present.

-

Midgardsormer had called them kin.

-

Meeting Sidurgu was like looking into an inverted mirror, and after their experiance with Esteem there is an undeniable moment where Hallima is sure that their other has somehow made their own form somehow.

This is not the case.

Sidurgu asks their help with Rielle -the girl soft and familiar in ways that Hallima can't quite pinpoint- and they quickly agree. They see the bond between the two easily, one simultaneously fireforged and silk-web delicate, and want to protect it.

(They do not say this. Sidurgu would probably hate the sentiment. but still the sentiment remains).

But then Sidurgu tells them of his people's arrival in Ishgard, fleeing the Empire and seeking refuge, only to be cut down by fearful Ishgardians who assumed them in league with the dragons.

"Everyone." Sidurgu stresses. "Man, woman, child. None escaped the slaughter."

Hallima's earliest memories are of freezing cold, staggering through snow drifts and desperately alone.

They do not ask.

[ainyan]

16. daybreak, szahli

The chill light of the false dawn found Szah’li slipping in through a window on the ground-floor of House Fortemps’ grand manor. He slid carefully behind the bushes that hid the window and teased open the latch using tools and skills first imparted to him by Jacke, then honed by Thancred and Riol. Once inside the quiet, uninhabited room that lay beyond the window, he resealed it and settled the drapes, then moved silently to the door. Pressing an ear against it, he listened for any sign that anyone was without.

Hearing nothing, he tugged open the door and peered around, then slipped outside. On soft feet, he strode along the carpeted floors, stealing out of this guest wing and along the back corridors until he reached the stairs leading up to the rooms where he and his fellow Scions had been housed ever since killing Thordan had made him - and them - a target for unrest.

As he set a foot upon the stair, someone cleared their throat softly from behind. He froze, then turned slowly, blinking at the figure behind him. Count Edmont Fortemps gazed back, a benevolent smile upon his face. “Master Szah’li,” he said gently. “I had hoped to find you in good health this morning.”

Involuntarily the miqo’te’s eyes strayed towards the windows, but no light yet peeked from behind the drawn curtains. “Morning seems a relative term, my lord,” he replied, and earned an amused smile for his quip. “How may I serve you?” he continued, keeping his sigh behind his polite expression. He’d hoped to hunt nothing more taxing than his bed for a few hours…

“Mayhap ‘tis I who can serve you,” the older man replied with quiet dignity. “Would you accompany me to my office?”

One did not refuse one’s host in his own house, especially when said host had gambled everything - pride, honor, and life - upon you. “Of course, my lord,” the boy replied, trying in vain to hide his discomfort behind a smile. The gleam in the old man’s blue eyes warned him he’d failed - but Edmont only inclined his head gracefully and gestured for the young Scion to follow him.

As the miqo’te trailed the elezen lord through the hallways towards his office, Edmont pointed out various paintings, knicknacks, and other pieces of decor with some significance to the family. “My great-grandfather. He was by all accounts a very devout man, and very stubborn besides,” he said, gesturing to the portrait of a stern elezen who resembled Artoirel in some small manner. Or, “Ah, this vase was a gift from my late wife’s cousin on the eve of Emmanellain’s birth. I’d always hoped he would knock it over, but alas.”

Szah’li could hardly blame him as he studied the pink and mauve creation dribbled in gilt and looking like a cross between a vivisected corpse and some eldritch horror from Ul’dahn nursery tales. “Alas,” he echoed fervently, and smiled to hear Edmont’s appreciative chuckle.

“Ah, here we are,” the count said and reached out to push open the door to his office, stepping aside to allow Szah’li to step in first. The boy entered, rubbing his arm self-consciously as Edmont moved past him towards his desk chair. Uncomfortable, he tugged at his worn leather jacket and tried not to get shabby on the furniture. Edmont, seated, looked up and frowned. “Have a seat, young man,” he invited, gesturing to one of the chairs settled across from the desk.

Szah’li eyed the plush scarlet cushions. “Uhm.”

Edmont smiled. “My boy, we are knights in this household. I assure you, the furniture of my personal study has seen far worse than some leather worn thin by honest work. Sit.”

The miqo’te could not disobey the subtle command in that final word and settled gingerly down upon the chair. “Thank you, my lord,” he said politely. “How may I assist you this morning?” He may not speak as poetically as Urianger or Thancred, but both men had spent many an hour drilling into him the subtleties of polite speech. 

“As I said earlier, it may be that I can be of assistance to you,” Edmont mused. “But first, I would hear how you found the city this evening.”

It was a moment’s struggle between his tongue and his willpower, but he suppressed the quip that first rose to mind. Alphinaud had warned him early on that while the Eorzean leadership found his brash nature charming, the kinds of puns and boorish jokes that Thancred had taught him would find little appreciation here in Ishgard.

A pity. He liked Thancred’s style of humor. But, he supposed, he was no lord, no matter what people said. Someday, maybe the rogue would come home and he would have a chance to practice on an appreciative audience once more.

A pang made him flinch, and he shoved that thought away. “Unquiet, my lord,” he finally responded, marshaling his thoughts. “Or disquiet, perhaps. Ser Aymeric’s revelations and the death of the Archbishop are but weeks old, and still fresh on everyone’s minds. Even in the dead of night, when most should be abed holding off the chill, the streets are still filled with rumbles.”

Edmont frowned. “I am not surprised,” he admitted, “though it makes my heart heavy to hear it confirmed. In one stroke - fell or otherwise - we have overturned a thousand years of lies and exposed the people to a truth they struggle to conceive. ‘Tis human nature to struggle against that which would make us feel we have been slighted, and the common people feel slighted by the nobles, while the nobles feel slighted by Ser Aymeric.”

Szah’li shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “I suppose, sir,” he replied. “I don’t understand much about the… uhm. Nobles and commoners. Sir.”

The count’s dark blue eyes studied his young ward thoughtfully. “You originally come from Gridania, do you not?” he asked. “I detect the forest on your tongue.”

Swallowing, Szah’li nodded. “Yes sir. Uhm. Sort of. I’m from the Black Shroud, but I never saw Gridania until I was sixteen, after…” He trailed off, eyes going blind for a moment. “After I, uh… left home.”

There was a story there, the Count mused - one his instincts told him was key to understanding this bright, brave, fey young man who sat before him so uncomfortably. With a diplomat’s sense of care, he let the moment slide by - for now. “It must not have been so long ago,” he mused instead. “I know that miqo’te age faster than elezen, but you are not much older than that, are you not?”

Szah’li hadn’t thought about his age in a while. “Uhm. No sir. I’m…” He trailed off, frowning. “Seventeen now, I think.” Again, that briefly blank stare. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

Edmont leaned back in his chair, absently rubbing his thumb across the pommel of his cane. “I imagine not. You have had quite an eventful life, have you not?” His keen eyes caught the edge of Szah’li’s instinctive flinch. “When my son came to me and asked that I accept you and your friends into my household, I was reluctant. I’ve told you this before,” he noted as the young man’s amber eyes slid back to him. “As you know, Haurchefant had a tendency to wax poetic, and although he would never give undue praise, sometimes he would be… overly eloquent and confuse the issue.”

Szah’li’s eyes fell away and his face crumpled briefly. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice painfully raw. “I did not mean to-”

“Haurchefant was a knight,” Edmont said with quiet dignity, “and he believed with all of his heart that it was a knight’s duty to protect. In you, he saw something worth protecting at any cost - at all costs. He called you hope incarnate, and you truly are, you know.” When those amber eyes shot up, he could read the protest as plain as day. “Do not bother. I will listen to your humble protestations no more than any of your companions do.”

Szah’li sprang to his feet, and Edmont stilled, sensing with a father’s intuition that the time was ripe for answers. “I’m not hope!” he yelped, despairing as he paced in a tight circle, tail flailing dangerously close to the furniture. “I’m a curse!”

“What makes you think that?” the count asked softly when the miqo’te would have fallen silent.

Had Edmont asked ‘why’, Szah’li might have bitten his tongue. Had Edmont simply disagreed, then Szah’li might have regained his control and shrugged it off as yet more undeserved praise. But something in the way the count phrased his question pushed some button, pulled some lever, and Szah’li’s story poured out of him, a torrent of words and emotions that jumbled together and yet somehow still made sense enough for Edmont to get the gist. The old lord’s heart ached at the tragedy upon tragedy that made up the boy’s life thus far.

Edmont showed no expression as he listened to the young miqo’te speak of his family, his clan, of their loss. Of the Scions. Of the losses the Scions had suffered since he had come amongst them. “They call me hope,” he said, voice hoarse and choked as he wound down, “but if it weren’t for me, the lot of ‘em’d still be alive. ‘Twas me as called down th’ Ascians’ attention. ‘Twas me as couldna find th’ words t’ warn ‘em and make it stick.”

As the boy’s words ran out, leaving behind empty air and heaving breaths, only then did Edmont rise with quiet dignity. Laying his cane aside, he stepped carefully towards the miqo’te, reaching out to clasp one hand firmly upon the boy’s bare shoulder. Szah’li looked up, amber eyes wild, and met the elezen’s compassionate gaze.

They stared at one another for one breath, then two, then Szah’li gave a choked sob and tried to wrench his shoulder away. Edmont’s fingers tightened, denying him release, and they shared one last momentary battle of wills then, with a sputter, the Warrior allowed the Count to draw him into his embrace.

Szah’li could not remember the last time he’d let another comfort him. Not since he was a kitten and he’d taken a hurt falling from a tree, he was certain. And never had it been a man; any males he’d met growing up had been strangers, whose only interest in him had been to ascertain that he was yet a kitten and no rival to their interests amongst the women of his family. The sensation of being held was unusual - but not, he discovered, uncomfortable.

As his tears ran his course, Szah’li began to squirm and Edmont released him, keeping one hand on the boy’s shoulder as the miqo’te dashed away the last of his tears with the heel of his hand. “I’m sorry,” he began miserably, but the Count hushed him.

“I understand the pressure to be a man, to show no emotion, to always be stoic and solid and never allow the cares on our shoulders to weigh us down.” His fingers closed in a comforting squeeze. “But here, of all places - in your home, with your family - you may feel free - obligated, even,” he corrected himself, “to unburden yourself with us. Nothing you say will ever stray beyond these walls. Please,” he added when he saw the rejection in those pained amber eyes, “let us support you as you have supported us these long, long months.”

How was he to deny such an earnest request? “I’ll try,” he promised haltingly, and Edmont’s approving smile sent an unexpected glow of warmth through his breast.

“Excellent. Now, I imagine that you would not mind a few hours of sleep before your companions come to rouse you for the day.” The count squeezed his shoulder one more time, then released him and turned to make his ponderous way back to the desk. Szah’li darted forward, catching gently at his elbow, and Edmont blinked at him before allowing the boy to help him back to his chair. “Thank you, my boy.”

The miqo’te shook his head. “No sir,” he said, voice still a bit hoarse from his weeping spell. “Thank you.” Once Edmont was settled, he turned on his tail and strode briskly from the room, not quite running - but almost.

Edmont watched him dart through the open door, into the light of the early morning sun as day broke above the walls of Ishgard. “Go with the gods, my son,” he murmured, before turning his attention to the leather-bound book awaiting him on the desk.

Original Ask Meme

Thank you for the ask!

[200dollarharu]

Just a fun little character timeline lol

[bnuuywol]

6 for the shuffle prompts!

There's Fear In Letting Go - I Prevail

So follow me deeper into the unknown Into your heart, into your soul This is the end of the world that you know And there will be pain in letting it go Feel the uncertainty down to your bones Are you afraid of dying alone? This is the end of the world that you know

I push myself a little closer to the edge So intoxicated with the end Those who wish me dead Made me who I am Until you lose it all, you will never know There's fear in letting go

Storming the Aetherochemical Research Facility... oh, he's so close he can almost taste it. Vengeance is finally within reach. The Allagan creations left behind, the Garleans in his way, they are nothing but a distraction. A minor annoyance standing between him and his target. With his companions stranded far behind him, he need no longer uphold the pretense that the merciful man they once knew still exists. It's time to give in.

Everything and everyone he cuts through feels pointless. But when he reaches his destination only to come face to face with Lahabrea? Now his attention is ensnared. Igeyorhm means nothing to him. He hardly pays her any mind save some hits to stave off her attacks for pure survival alone. It's Lahabrea he wants. He knows the plot enacted by Ser Zephirin was his doing. A coward's attempt at striking him down, costing the life of someone he loved dearly. No more would Phoenyx allow this Ascian to hurt those he loves, to possess and murder those he's fallen in love with.

His only regret is not being able to strike down Lahabrea himself. He could have set the white auracite and the Eye against him, but he didn't. Phoenyx wanted to be able to see the life leave his eyes, to rip him apart with his own two hands. He didn't care that he presently had no way of doing so. No matter. Lahabrea is slain, and the man whose blood he desperately wishes to spill stands before him. Even fighting the Archbishop's primal form is no more than a means towards striking directly at Ser Zephirin himself. And when he does, oh, how good it feels. Low growls vibrate in his throat as his blade rips through the knight's armor. Even as a primal he's able to make him bleed.

When all is said and done, the Archbishop and his men fall. They always do. They truly never understand, do they? If you stand against the Warrior of Light, you will die. He circles the arena, watching each of them dissipate into the aether one by one. Ser Zephirin attempts to rise despite his fate and Phoenyx digs his heel into his back, shoving him down until he fades away. Finally, he comes to the Archbishop, the last to remain.

"Who– what are you?" Thordan's voice trembles with fear.

Phoenyx crouches in front of him, his expression is like ice. "I am the swirling abyss, your deepest fears brought to fruition. The fury of Halone herself pales in comparison to the rage within me. The rage you ignited." He grips the Archbishop's jaw to keep his attention before he dissipates completely. "As your aether scatters into the Rift, let the face of the man who ripped you apart be the last thing you ever remember."

[jeredu]

Bad Decisions [WoLchefant Alt Timeline]

This started out as a silly brainworm and became a whole THING:

(WoLchefant timeline) Haurchefant clocking Emet-Selch as one heartbroken sad man to another, and Emet HATING being perceived. that's it that's the relationship.

(also Emet refusing to acknowledge how familiar his soul feels, and Haurchefant not understanding WHY Emet feels familiar and like someone he wants to save)

Haurchefant: I WILL stop you, but I refuse to hate you. Emet: [grinding teeth, increasingly perplexed and annoyed]

(hello, have more WoLchefant Alt Timeline content. I wrote a fic!)

[wyrmwinds]

Ava was MADE to have backstory to kind of bring ARR “full circle” thematically (ARR is kicked off by Bahamut, so a hero tied to him will aid the realm’s rebirth) but even then. Wow ARR is a lot for her huh.

[nebula-drcams]

" I think I'd very much like to go and just sleep for a whole day now. Again. "

[privateolives]

Ah right I forgot the calamity was fairly recent. I believe the public bath was only founded after this though, as the Firmament expansion was only released post-stormblood. Unless you're talking about some other public baths I'm forgetting (Very possible).

This moment from my playthrough keeps coming up with friends, so why don't I share the time I accidentally did Aymeric so dirty with my outfit choice for the dinner scene.

So for those of you not aware, my WoL is supposed to be a sweet Thanalan country boy type. Think desert Clark Kent-vibes man but from the burning cliffsides of Thanalan instead of Kansas. And I play a paladin besides, so of course my mildmannered Lambard went through most of Heavensward looking like this:

Covered head to toe in steel.

But of course, when Aymeric finally invites you do dinner, that won't do. Showing up in armor would just be impolite! So I pull my ff14 bestie in for an emergency glam sesh trying to figure out what a traditional thanalan lad might wear to a fancy occasion. We end up putting this together, which I was quite pleased with!

Straight Oughtta Ul'dah looking outfit. Looks good right? It's fancy! It's traditional! It's in-character! It's just perfect.

Bit chilly for the road there, so we figure he would have used the supplied Ishgardian coat on the way there. (I didn't get a screencap of that in time sorry)

So I slam the glam on just before the cutscene and go in happily unaware of what I'm about to do to this poor catholic boy and he greets us in a similar coat to what we got... as indoor wear. Which really should have been our first warning of what was to come.

Anyway, we come in and if you, unlike myself, are a nice, observant allosexual, you might already spot the problem.

Because as it turns out, Lambard's beautiful Ul'dahn coat has one major issue when being sat at this type of dinner table.

That being that between the coat and the table, there is now a perfectly triangular window towards the BIGGEST, FATTEST pair of sword-swinging steel-carrying hobby-mining sun-kissed pair of tits to ever grace the frozen lands of Ishgard.

Keep in mind that our poor Aymeric hasn't been lord speaker for long at this point, he's yet to leave Coerthas completely (as far as we know) on any diplomatic missions. He was recently still the knight-commander, polite son of the Pope, from the isolated lands of French Warrior Catholicism, who's grown up and only ever seen tall spindly Elezen people, wearing 50 layers in -oof° degrees celsius weather all day every day every month whole year.

And now he's sitting at a private dinner, doomed to look at THIS

for several hours whilst his elderly butler, last remnants of family he has, hovers about the whole time serving that appears to be unseemly amounts of wine

And I took

SEVERAL

HOURS

after the cutscene to realize what I'd done to this poor man.

... Though in my defence, my ace ass was busy laughing my head off at the reaction they give your WoL to the butler mixing you a cocktail.

[rebirthedflames]

tag drop ↳ verses.

✧ ⥼ — v. 001. warrior of light. ❝ i am trying. i am trying. i am still trying. ✧ ⥼ — v. 002. scion. ❝

✧ ⥼ — timeline. unknown/other. ✧ ⥼ — timeline. a realm reborn. ✧ ⥼ — timeline. heavensward. ✧ ⥼ — timeline. stormblood. ✧ ⥼ — timeline. shadowbringers. ✧ ⥼ — timeline. endwalker.

[voidb0und]

tag drop        ↳ verses.

✧ ⥼ — v. 001. warrior of light. ❝ is this really the world? shall i grieve? shall i hope? ✧ ⥼ — v. 002. hunter. ❝ do the cries you craft with your scythe ever soften your heart?

✧ ⥼ — timeline. to be decided. ✧ ⥼ — timeline. a realm reborn. ✧ ⥼ — timeline. heavensward. ✧ ⥼ — timeline. stormblood. ✧ ⥼ — timeline. shadowbringers. ✧ ⥼ — timeline. endwalker.

[zwierzodudle]

people are reblogging that 'heavensward is about destroying the church and fucking dragons' post and they do not believe people are serious about that, but anyway here are two of my favorite random non interactable npcs in the post-heavensward timeline